


Discoloration

by silkinsilence



Series: Moicy Week 2019 [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Flirting, Moicy Week, Moicy Week 2019, Porn Without Plot Without Porn, Post-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: ‍Moira and Angela’s paths have diverged after the fall of Overwatch, but desire always seems to bring them colliding back together.‍
Relationships: Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Moicy Week 2019 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566913
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Discoloration

**Author's Note:**

> For Moicy Week Day 6: Shades of Grey/Rainbow.
> 
> Wow, day six already! Sure hope whoever's writing these has a bombshell prepared for the finale, hahahahhahhahha (I don't)

She hadn’t seen Moira since the dissolution of Overwatch. Not in person, anyway. She’d kept vague tabs on her erstwhile coworker and...lover, if she could be called that even when love had never been involved. She’d been as incredulous as much of the scientific community to hear of Moira’s appointment in Oasis, and she couldn’t deny that she was above jealousy.

Without Overwatch, Angela Ziegler’s star had fallen. She had kept herself mostly to fieldwork, surgical assignments in battle zones and other relief work. That had been her choice, she had to constantly remind herself. She hadn’t trusted herself with research anymore, not after what she’d tried to build and tried to do.

But she saw Moira, on the news, and each time a bevy of emotions rose within her, anger and grief and regret and _jealousy. That could have—_ should _have—been me._

And though she would never admit it, to Moira’s face or herself, desire.

But now Angela was in Munich’s rathaus, surrounded by her peers in medicine and biology, and the Minister herself had deigned to step down from her desert throne to mingle with the common folk.

Moira looked…

Well. She looked unfairly exquisite. She wore a black suit over a dark grey shirt, the white geometric patterns of her black tie the only indication of the styles of her new home. The monochrome made her eyes’ color appear all the more piercing, her hair all the more fiery.

(Shouldn’t some of that hair be going grey by now? Did she dye it?)

And Moira saw her, of course; the lovely hall wasn’t packed, and Angela refused to let herself even think of hiding. What was she afraid of?

Moira approached her, like she had the first time they’d met. Then Angela had been the one who kept coming back for more, but not this time. Never again.

“You look lovely, Doctor Ziegler,” Moira said. She wore that ever-present smile that was more of a smirk. Her shoes clacked against the floor and Angela looked down: black wingtip Oxfords.

Once upon a time, Moira had pressed similar shoes between Angela’s legs. A long time ago, Angela had licked her own wetness off the toe of one.

She’d had too much wine. The alcohol was to blame.

“Thank you,” she said crisply. She took a sip from her nearly-full second glass. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Why? Doctor Urtz’s work on nanomachines in gene therapy is cutting-edge.”

“When you say it like that, it only makes it sound all the more _beneath_ you.” She almost sneered the words. She was annoyed with herself for allowing Moira’s presence to get to her, for returning to old bickering instead of keeping detached and polite.

Moira raised her eyebrows.

“I’m surprised to see you here too. Given that I’ve heard nary a whisper of you in the past decade, a convention of the field’s leading experts would seem... _above_ you.”

Angela stewed silently. She bit her tongue and then her lips and thought about how Moira’s perfect ensemble would look drenched in wine. How did the other woman have the gift of always vocalizing Angela’s insecurities? How did she always wield her words the way Angela wielded scalpels, knowing exactly where and how to cut?

“My apologies. It’s wonderful to see you, especially looking so radiant.” Moira looked her up and down in a way that was inappropriate for professional acquaintances, but the attention buoyed Angela again.

“You look...good,” she returned begrudgingly. “Handsome.”

“Ah, you charmer. Now tell me, Doctor Ziegler, what have you been doing?” Moira asked conversationally, before dropping her voice even as her tone remained casual. “And whom?”

Angela seethed and closed her eyes and relinquished what little of her pride remained.

“You,” she said. “Later?”

Moira looked almost insufferably happy with herself, and Angela revisited the fantasy of emptying her glass on her.

“Why wait? This part of the evening is dedicated to socializing, after all,” she said, and one of her hands curled around Angela’s waist.

The library was set away from the hall and mercifully unlocked. It was a beautiful room, ornate wooden shelves of books rising two stories on three walls, while the fourth housed floor-to-ceiling windows. But Angela’s wonder only lasted as long as it took Moira to close the door behind them, and then the hunger returned.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here,” she said, feeling like a schoolgirl. Of course, she had never done much sneaking around back then.

“Oh, definitely not,” Moira agreed, and then she was pressing Angela up against a bookshelf. “I suppose we should be quick then.”

“Not too quick,” Angela said, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic to Moira as it did to her.

“You really are a vision.” Moira’s hands were cupping her breasts, her thumbs brushing over her nipples through the cloth. Angela whined and arched her back into it. Her nipples were so sensitive, a fact Moira clearly hadn’t forgotten. She didn’t have clamps or rope to ensnare Angela in their sweet torture, but her fingers worked just as well. And in the moment Angela was so needy, so frankly _horny,_ that the gentle caresses were somehow more torturous.

Then Moira yanked up the hem of her skirt until it was bunched around her thighs, and her hand went wandering underneath. Angela could see her pupils dilate at what she found, and god damn if that didn’t turn Angela on more.

Her dress was tight enough around the hips and rear that she’d worn a g-string, and the little scrap of cloth between her legs was positively soaked.

“Maybe this will come home with me,” Moira murmured into her ear as her fingers played with the straps of the thong, and the mere thought of that had Angela rocking against her. “A prize. Have you been thinking of this all night?”

“Not quite,” Angela panted. She reached up to the knot of Moira’s tie and began to fumble with it. “This suit is so drab. It needs color.”

“And what color were you thinking of, Doctor Ziegler?”

The knot loose, Angela reversed their positions, pinning Moira against the shelf in her stead.

“Yellow,” she whispered. “ _Here—”_

She dropped to her knees. Moira’s pants were easier than her tie. There was a dark wet patch at the front of her (infuriatingly) grey boxers.

Moira pulled her tie all the way off and looped it around the back of Angela’s neck, and it was ten years ago and they were fucking at an Overwatch party and nothing hurt and nothing mattered.

“I suppose tonight’s presentation isn’t the only thing beneath me,” Moira said, a barely-restrained laugh in her words.

Angela yanked down the hem of her boxers to get her mouth on her, determined to turn the smug look into pleasure and the words into moans.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always greatly appreciated!


End file.
